


What's Your Dream?

by thebisfor



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Mirror Universe, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebisfor/pseuds/thebisfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's been a low rent whore for almost as long as he can remember. There's not a lot of advancement for that kind of person in the empire - until a few things change, a few new people enter his life, and he discovers he's got more up his sleeve than he thought he did. </p>
<p>Starts off as lighthearted as a mirror prostitution AU can, will only get more depressing and violent as time goes on inevitably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Your Dream?

Jim always woke up with the sun in his eyes. Hazy, red, and glaring, it blazed through the narrow window above his bed and pierces his eyelids. He groaned and turned over, but it's no use. Once he's up, he's up. He stretched catlike across the threadbare, woven bedspread, its once bright colors made faded and murky by the same sunlight that woke him up each morning. The bed creaked as he shifted over it, threatening to crumble under him like it had every morning since he'd come to this place. You'd think they could at least afford to replace the bed frame once every ten years, but apparently not. His room was tiny, no more than eight by ten feet, enough for his double bed and a few shelves of books and old, outdated PADDs. The vidscreen on the wall was as old as he was, flickering to life slowly and fuzzily when he tried to turn it on. He smacked it a few times to clear the picture, the Empire - controlled newscasts buzzing to life quietly. Planets conquered, new riches amassed, new species subjugated to their glorious rule. A roach crawled across his floor and out under his thick steel - core door. _Yeah - glorious._ There was nothing local on, so he sighed and turned it back off. He'd find something to play on it later, once his customers arrived. Background noise always seemed to set people at ease. At least, as much at ease as any of them ever could be in this town.

It was early still - probably around seven thirty. Early enough that most of the others on his floor would still be sleeping. Theirs was a nighttime profession, even now. It always had been. That meant everyone else liked their beauty rest, and Jim got first go at the showers. There wasn't any hot water to have first dibs on, but standing under the cool torrent was still calming and refreshing in its way. The cold, murky water splattered over the concrete floor and down the drain as Jim scrubbed lazily at himself with a thick cake of government supplied soap. He was sure it was mostly lye. It was funny how much technology had advanced in hundreds of years - for those who had money. He tilted his face up into the spray. Breakfast would be at nine, if someone remembered to order it, thin gruel and heavy bread, all made from the cheapest synthetic material the kitchens could buy. He remembered being young, eating burgers and watermelon in the summer, sticky from fruit and candy and playing war for hours in the hot Iowa sun. His stomach growled. He shut the water off and stepped out, wrapping his thin towel around himself. His sandals slapped noisily as he walked back down the hall to his room, leaving wet footprints on the concrete. It was starting to heat up in his room already. He slapped his small fan until it whirred to life, blasting cold air in spurts. He really needed to fix it, but it worked well enough for now. He dropped the towel on the floor and sprawled across his bed, letting the choppy air dry him off as he closed his eyes again.

Pounding on his door made him jerk upright and pull on a thin, loose pair of pants. He hopped up from the bed and jerked the door open, only to have a bowl and plate shoved at him by the grumpy looking chubby man who ran the kitchens. Jim didn't know what he was always so cranky about - he didn't make his living on his back, for one, and he had a truly excellent mustache. "Thanks Mudd." Jim chirped, juggling the food and kicking his door closed again in the man's smarmy displeased face.

He collapsed on his bed again, stuffing his face quickly. If food was here, that meant the day had almost started, and it was time for him to lounge around with the door open, luring in as many men and women as he could for as many credits as he could. Rent was due soon, and he was still short. Not that he'd be out on the street if he was a little late, but the lectures and shouting started to get unpleasant after a while. And if he made enough, he could sneak out into the lower slums and buy real food for once, not just the slop that Mudd slipped to everyone in the building as part of their lease. What Jim wouldn't give for a corn dog… Though to be fair, there wasn't much left Jim hadn't already given.

He tucked his dishes just outside his door when he was finished and left it open, nudging his cheerily colored welcome mat out front. He was officially open for business - he just hoped it wasn't a slow day. He bullied his vidscreen back to life, flipping channels until some ancient movie fizzed to life, with some woman in a truly terrible blonde wig and a miniskirt trying to sell herself on a street corner. God, this had to be older than dirt. It was strangely apt and hilarious to Jim, though, so he let it crackle on, largely ignoring it in favor of digging through his PADDs for the one he'd downloaded a few old, free science magazines onto. He could spend most of the morning reading without worry - if anyone was out this early, they already knew they were looking for him, and would come in on their own once they saw his door was open. He liked mornings. They were quiet.

It was a few hours before someone knocked softly on his doorframe. He looked up, pulling off his reading glasses carefully and smiling at the older man leaning in his doorway. He was a regular, not that Jim could really remember his name, and his Standard was terrible. His English wasn't much better, but he had a kind smile and soft eyes and ready money, and Jim was happy to set his PADD aside and beckon him into the room, holding out a hand for his. First the man gave him his money, and then Jim pulled him in for a slow, sweet kiss.Anatole, that might be his name. Engine repairman. Not bad money, but not enough to see Jim more than ever other week.

They fucked slowly, Jim's legs wrapped around Anatole's lower back, heels digging into his skin. He liked the door shut, his head on Jim's shoulder, panting hot and sticky against Jim's neck. Intimate. The tiny fan was no match for the heat of their movement and the heat of the day, and soon they were both covered in a sheen of sweat. Anatole dragged a hand through Jim's hair, and it stood up in messy spikes. Jim tried to remember anything else about the man thrusting jerkily into him - was he married? Did he have children? But all he could manage was clinging to his flexing back, digging his nails into the skin, and panting harshly as the air was driven from him with each thrust. Anatole never lasted long - twenty minutes on a good day - but they were an enjoyable twenty minutes, Jim squirming under him and bucking up eagerly until the older man gasped and came, stilling suddenly over him. Jim silently blessed spray on prophylactics, and stroked Anatole's sweaty hair. The other man gasped for air for a minute before rolling off of Jim and sprawling on his bed.

Jim propped himself on an elbow and smiled down at him, his blue eyes sparkling. They always loved his eyes. It didn't make any difference to them that all Jim was thinking behind them was that he hoped they'd leave quickly, and not sweat on his bed too much. He'd also like to rinse off - today was just too hot.

"I'll see you later, Anatole?" Jim smiled. The other man smiled back and nodded, sighing. It was a moment before he sat up, tugging his pants back on. He probably had to get back to work - Jim imagined it was his lunch break. Lunch was always when the day started to get busy. He could hear the sounds of the other tenants on the floor working, choked gasps and lusty moans drifting through the hallway. Anatole nodded to him and left quietly. Jim stowed his money in a battered cash box under his bed. He kept it hidden behind a mountain of dirty socks - if anyone could stomach digging past that, then they deserved to get away with his money. He made a quick trip to the shower after putting it away, weaving around everyone else on the floor.

The shower was busy now, with three other people vying for space under the spray of the water. They were all trying to scrub up for the day, soap and scrub brushes everywhere - all Jim wanted was to rinse off the sweat. He twined around them, laughing as they tried to throw soap bubbles at each other and at him.

"Come on, guys, I'm busy!"

"Oh, don't brag!" Carol rolled her eyes, dumping handfuls of soapy water over his head. "You smell terrible, as usual."

He laughed and dunked his head under the spray, neatly avoiding Gary's attempt to catch him in a playful chokehold. He leapt out of the shower area, shaking like a wet dog.

"I must smell fine, because I've already worked today. Maybe you should sniff yourself again. Or Gary - It's probably Gary." That prompted another water fight, and as pretty as they were to watch tussling around under the flow of the water, skin glistening, Jim had to head back to his room. He slipped back into his threadbare shorts and lounged int he doorway of his room, smiling cheerily at the passersby. Most of them were other residents of the floor, or people passing through quickly on their way through the labyrinthine buildings, heading for a market or a job on a different floor or across the catwalks. Those ones never made eye contact for more than a few seconds, if they did at all. Some scowled at him; others blushed deeply and walked faster. His line of work wasn't for everyone. That was okay, though. He didn't have time for people who wouldn't look a whore in the eye, not in this empire. Most of them would - and possibly already had - killed for their jobs, or done thousands of other underhanded, sneaky, cruel things day by day in the service to their government. That wasn't a bad thing, of course, but Jim certainly believed it absolved them of the ability to judge. At least whoring was honest.

He did well that day. Three more men came, and two women. One of the men went down on him for hours, hot mouth on his cock, sucking hungrily like he might die without Jim's cock in his throat. Jim had clung to his hair and jerked his hips roughly, wondering what the man did for a living if he was so hungry to submit that he had to come here. A manager of some kind, probably, hungry for a little vulnerability. He paid well, and he swallowed. Jim couldn't ask for much more than that. The last woman of the day came at around nine, when the sun had begun to go down. The day was always over for them when the night came - then rent was due, the power was off, and they had nothing to do but sleep until daylight. She'd shoved him back against the bed and ridden him hard, pulling his hair and slapping his face whenever he made eye contact (which hadn't stopped her from demanding he look at her.) She must have been quite the social and political powerhouse, Jim guessed. She fucked like she had something to prove. He collapsed into his bed as all the lights flickered off. He'd made enough to secure his bed for the next week, and maybe even a good breakfast tomorrow. He stretched out naked on top of his blankets - he would have to wash those tomorrow. It was too hot to let it go for more than a day, with all the sweat and other bodily fluids that soaked into the sheets. The dangers of summer in Chicago, he supposed. He opened and drained half of a huge bottle of water, pouring some more over his head before he flopped back down on top of his pillows. He'd been here nearly ten years. It was strange to think about, sometimes. Ten years of the same little room, the same hallways, the only things changing being neighbors and clients. He was getting older. By thirty, he'd better have a different line of work lined up. He wasn't sure he could stand the boredom until then. Jim sighed as he drifted to sleep, wishing for something, anything to change.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been wanting to write for a while. I love a good prostitution AU, and if it involves murder and political intrigue, even better. That said, I'm a spotty updater and I apologize in advance. (If anyone even is reading this?)


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